


After You, My Dear Alphonse

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alphonse and Gaston, BDSM, Bloodplay, Bondage, Breast Fucking, Creampie, Exhibitionism, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Face-Sitting, Fingering, First Time, Horror, Kink Discovery, Knife Play, Lap Sitting, Masturbation, Multi, On a train, Openly Raped in Public, Painplay, Pearl Necklace, Perversion, Public Nudity, Rape, Sadism, Steampunk, Switching, Vaginal Sex, Violence, Voyeurism, Whump, Woman on Top, noncon, rippers, urethral insertion, wound-fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 04:50:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16737427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Alphonse's blade sliced through the heavy fabric of Hazel's skirt from hem to waist, exposing her petticoats. Etta's thighs clenched together as she watched the knife pass between her friend's legs, and her breath came short against her girdle.A most indecent excitement had taken hold of her. She prayed that Hazel wouldn't see it.And, as an afterthought, she hoped the Rippers wouldn't hurt Hazel.Or only hurt her a little.





	After You, My Dear Alphonse

The car was almost empty, and as it lurched to a halt Etta snapped out of her daze and saw Hazel at the other end, reading a newspaper. She raised a hand to wave at her friend over the noise of the engines, which were loud even when idling, but Hazel turned her back to her as the connecting doors opened and two Rippers came through from the next compartment, letting in a gust of smoke from the tunnel. Hazel stood directly in their path. Etta saw Hazel raise her umbrella to ward them off. 

The Rippers smiled their ghastly smiles under their top hats and seized Hazel. They danced her around the carriage while Etta shrank back in her seat, hiding behind her suitcase. Hazel swore at them in uncouth panic and struggled.

"Ladies and gentlemen," announced one of the Rippers loudly, "we regret to inform you that the train will be delayed while we perform some routine maintenance. Please stay calm, and you will soon be on your way."

"I paid for my ticket! You have no right!" shouted Hazel. 

"Madam, the fare you paid was to ride the train. Rest assured, we will make it worth your coin."

"Unless someone else would like to volunteer?" asked the second Ripper.

Unsurprisingly, no-one did. Faces hid behind magazines and newspapers. Other passengers turned to examine the moldings on the carriage walls or looked down to study their spats. The first Ripper held Hazel's arms behind her between his elbow and the crook of her umbrella, covering her mouth in his other gloved hand.

"After you, my dear Alphonse," he said to his counterpart.

"Only if you insist, my dear Gaston."

"Oh, but I do."

Hazel got in a good kick as Alphonse approached her, but the cartoony facade of their nicknames and demeanor dropped abruptly as the Ripper shed his frock coat and revealed the knives strapped to his vest. The gaslight glinted off the blades even through the smog hanging in the carriage air.

Etta pulled her knees up against her chest behind her suitcase. She didn't want to look, but she couldn't bear not to. She peered at the scene under the brim of her hat and over the top of her suitcase, which didn't quite hide her completely where it sat on the seat next to her.

The shorter Ripper had begun to slash at the skirt of Hazel's dress.

"Please stand still," the taller Ripper holding her said.

"Do listen to Gaston, Madam. This will only take a moment, and it would be most unfortunate if I were to cut you by accident."

"My dear Alphonse would never be so careless as to slice into someone without intending to, but one must always be mindful of the unexpected when handling moving equipment."

Alphonse's blade sliced through the heavy fabric of Hazel's skirt from hem to waist, exposing her petticoats. Etta's thighs clenched together as she watched the knife pass between her friend's legs, and her breath came short against her girdle.

A most indecent excitement had taken hold of her. She prayed that Hazel wouldn't see it.

And, as an afterthought, she hoped the Rippers wouldn't hurt Hazel.

Or only hurt her a little.

Alphonse pressed the tip of his knife into the hollow between Hazel's thighs, and cut a hole in her petticoats. The blade disappeared under the layers of silk, the handle jutting out like a phallus in Alphonse's hand.

Etta wondered if Hazel felt the cold blade against her skin, if the edge dug into her flesh as it sliced through her underthings. She saw Hazel's face in profile, half-hidden by Gaston's hand, but her eyes were drawn, irresistibly, to the knife.

Alphonse left the knife sheathed in Hazel's petticoats and removed the glove from his left hand, placing it on top of his coat, draped over the back of an empty seat. The handle of the knife trembled between Hazel's legs, dipping forward, stopping. Etta shuddered to imagine the point of the knife rising there, coming to rest between Hazel's legs. She wondered how far the pointed tip reached, if Hazel could feel the prick of it against her most intimate parts.

Etta thought of the last Ripper attack she had heard about, the one when the passengers, led by a man who had been in the army with their target, had leapt forward to disarm them and the Rippers had left behind five dead bodies, six more wounded, and their initial victim had vanished into the tunnels with them. He had been found three days later... amputated. 

And the attack before that. The papers had interviewed the victim, who had made it out alive, and mostly unharmed. She hadn't said much, but had been thankful for the support of her husband in the aftermath. She'd been pregnant. The husband had volunteered to endure the worst in her place, and the unborn child had been spared. They were still in hospital, on bedrest until the baby came to full term and its father recovered. 

Etta had been away from the city. She hadn't really believed the reports. After all, the trains were still running, and the penny dreadfuls published so much titillating horror that could not be credited for accuracy. But here she was, and the Rippers were holding Hazel. And Etta wondered what dark stars had aligned to bring her to this carriage at the worst possible time.

"My dear Gaston, would you like the first taste?" Alphonse said, as he pulled the knife out and reattached it to his vest with the others.

"You're too kind, my dear Alphonse."

Alphonse's hand disappeared into the hole in Hazel's petticoats. She squirmed. 

"Oh, Gaston, the lady is dry." He bought his hand out again and raised it to Gaston's face. Gaston sniffed the fingertips. 

"We must do something about that. Please, your fingers, Alphonse."

Gaston opened his mouth. Alphonse put his fingers in Gaston's mouth, where Gaston sucked on them obscenely, red lips pursing and drooling around two pale wide fingers, then Alphonse extracted them, glistening wet, and plunged his hand in-between Hazel's legs again. 

Etta felt herself growing wet in sympathy with her friend. It was perfectly horrid. 

"My dear Gaston," said Alphonse, "I believe we were in error. The lady is but a damsel yet. Do pardon us for the mistake, Miss."

"Surely there is something we can do for her, my dear Alphonse."

"We could usher her into womanhood. Correct the error." Alphonse leered at Hazel. "Let her speak, my dear Gaston, I would hear her thoughts on the matter."

"Will none of you cowards help me?" Hazel said haltingly, accusingly. Etta flinched. The passengers were silent. Etta opened her mouth, and shut it again, behind the cover of her luggage. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, if anyone would take her place, now is the time to speak up. We are nothing if not reasonable gentlemen, and we would be glad accept a volunteer." Alphonse pulled out a long knife again as he spoke, his ungloved hand still concealed in Hazel's undergarments. "A lady's loss of virtue is a one-way ticket, so the exchange would need to be of equivalent value, of course. Pay the fare, and you can all go on your way, so long as someone opens up, one way or another."

"You do love it when they bleed, my dear Alphonse."

"Hush, my dear Gaston. Do we hear any takers?"

The train's engines cut out. Feet shuffled, someone cleared their throat as quietly as they could, but Etta could now hear the gas fixtures burning in their sconces, such was the pall in the carriage.

Hazel stifled a moan. Alphonse's hand was still working at her.

"Just fuck her and get it over with," said a man. "I have a meeting to attend."

Etta gasped. Everyone turned to face the man, who was pocketing a watch, the gold chain of it trailing from a buttonhole on his bespoke suit.

Alphonse let go of Hazel and walked toward the man, licking the nectar of her flower off his fingers. He passed so close to Etta that she could smell the familiar smell of it through the smog. She could have stretched out a hand and taken a knife off his vest, if she'd dared. She could have volunteered, and spared Hazel.

"Sir, I understand your concern. We all have business to attend to," Alphonse said softly. He motioned smoothly with his knife hand. The businessman smiled, then suddenly reached for his throat. Blood welled up between his fingers. He fell to the floor with a bubbling choking sound, and soon lay still. The cut had been so swift there was no blood on the blade.

"The late gentleman voiced his opinion," Gaston said. "My dear Alphonse obligingly despatched him."

"You are all welcome to watch, of course," Alphonse said, "but, since there are no volunteers, for everyone's safety, it would be best to stand back, that we may work unimpeded."

"There may be some resistance, but please do not hold it against this young lady. We shall be conducting delicate operations, and we anticipate that, in her discomfort, she may not be fully in control of herself." Gaston briefly inserted his free hand into the hole in Hazel's petticoats, then examined his gloved fingers, rubbing them together. Hazel looked away, biting her lip. "We'll be needing more lubrication."

"Of course," Alphonse said. He crouched next to the dead man and dipped a finger into the dark blood on the floor of the carriage, then licked it. "But there are many ways to achieve that. What would you suggest we try now, my dear Gaston?"

Etta held her tongue, to keep herself from telling them exactly what had once made Hazel wet. 

"Let's appraise the situation properly, first."

Etta looked away as Alphonse cut Hazel's petticoats. The man sitting across from her stared fixedly at the dead businessman. There was a stain on his lap. A woman standing by the doors had blood spattered all over her shoes. She had dropped a cigarette in the gore, and kept trying to strike a light against a matchsafe, and missing. Another woman sat near Etta, shakily holding her magazine open in front of her face. Two men sitting side by side held hands, murmuring soothingly to each other.

No-one on this train would be stopping the Rippers.

Etta set her feet down. The blood hadn't spilled so near to her that she'd risk stepping in it, and she needed to catch her breath from the squeeze of the girdle. She smoothed her skirt over her knees, but her own petticoats had bunched together between her thighs. She peered over the suitcase again.

The Rippers had exposed Hazel's legs. The slash in her skirt and petticoats revealed a triangle of skin: thighs above stockings held up by suspenders hanging down from her corset, framing the mound of Venus. Hazel's pale skin, pale hairs, bared indecently. Alphonse kneeled in front of Hazel, killing knife in hand.

"Please spread your legs, Miss," said Gaston.

"Please don't hurt me," Hazel said in a small voice. She parted her legs a little. Alphonse lifted the knife, laid the flat of its blade against Hazel's inner thigh, and used it to pry her legs wider apart. It would only take one slice to make Hazel bleed. Etta watched Alphonse's bare hand part the secret lips of Hazel's cunt, his fingers running over the pearl of her clitoris, testing the opening beyond through which Hazel bled every month. But she wasn't bleeding now. Not yet.

"My dear Gaston, the lady's oyster needs to be pried open. Did you bring the oyster-shucking knife?"

"I believe we're in luck," said Gaston. Still holding Hazel's arms back, he reached under his jacket with his free hand and brought forth a short blunt-tipped knife.

Alphonse took the new blade from Gaston, then handed him the handle of the long pointed blade on Hazel's thigh. He removed and set aside his top hat and his remaining glove. His slicked-back blond hair was a shade darker than Hazel's. Then he grinned up at her, or at Gaston.

"Hold still, Miss," said Alphonse. Gaston dug the flat of the long blade against her thigh. Alphonse spread her lips apart, and brought the short blunt blade up.

Etta felt a sharp stab of arousal in her own cunt when Hazel cried out as Alphonse cut into her. A red line appeared against the edge of the blade on Hazel's thigh. The oyster knife's blade moved inside her. Hazel's cries became whimpers. Her face contorted with pain. It looked so much like pleasure. Etta saw Alphonse pull out the knife, then test Hazel's entrance again. Her hips moved when he put his fingers inside her. Blood beaded on the blade of the long knife on her thigh. Alphonse's fingers came out of Hazel's cunt covered in fresh blood.

He stood, and offered the first taste to Gaston, and Etta envied him.

"Delicious, my dear Alphonse."

"She's ready to be plucked now; aren't you, Miss?" 

Hazel nodded piteously. 

"Let's lay her down, my dear Gaston." Alphonse took back the long knife, pointing at Hazel's belly under the bottom edge of her corset as Gaston released her arms. Then Gaston took off his frock coat, revealing the implements of torture strapped to his vest. Alphonse handed the oyster knife back to him. They motioned for Hazel to lie down on the floor of the carriage. She reclined, trembling.

Alphonse spread her skirt and petticoats wide and pinned them down with knives. Gaston removed Hazel's hat and handcuffed her hands above her head to the leg of one of the seats. 

Her arms were pointing Etta's way. She didn't have a good view of Hazel's face anymore, but that might also mean less chance of Hazel seeing her as she watched. The cut on Hazel's thigh seemed superficial. Etta's thighs squeezed together around her bunched petticoats. 

"After you, my dear Alphonse."

"No, after you, my dear Gaston."

"Please, my dear Alphonse. Take her."

"But it's your turn, my dear Gaston."

Finally the Rippers agreed that whoever was most aroused would go first. Etta wanted to run in and beat them both. Her arousal was drenching her petticoats, but she dared not move. Hazel must still be bleeding, but Etta couldn't see it from where she sat.

The two Rippers unbuttonned the flaps of their front fall trousers, and compared their erect male members. Etta looked away. 

The passengers in the carriage were not all averting their eyes. Etta now saw that some were also staring, riveted, at the unfolding spectacle of Hazel's ravishment. Men and women peered over newspapers, or out of the corners of their eyes. A young woman who had been biting her gloved knuckle gaped at the Rippers' cocks, her pretty, innocent face flushed. An older man had laid his hat over his lap, one hand hidden beneath it while the other held it in place. He too stared at the Rippers' cocks, a look of longing on his whiskered face.

Gaston kneeled down between Hazel's legs. His member looked flushed with blood, dark red and raised and very large to Etta's eyes.

He held Hazel's hatpin in his gloved hand. 

Etta watched in amazement as he took Hazel's hatpin and slid it into the hole at the tip of his member, until only the jeweled end showed. Then he guided his decorated cock to the entrance of Hazel's cunt, and slowly inserted it into her.

Hazel took a ragged breath that turned into a moan of pain. Gaston groaned, and pushed deeper into her, and stayed there.

He pulled out, still slowly, Hazel's blood red on the red of his cock, red on the end of the hatpin. He rubbed his cock on Hazel's lips, painted them red, then plunged into her again. He fucked her slowly, bracing himself on his gloved hands, to a hushed audience, and Etta could see Hazel struggling not to cry out, not to make a spectacle of herself. 

Then he pulled out. The hatpin still shone at the tip of his cock, through Hazel's blood.

"After you, my dear Alphonse. I want to make this last."

"You know how to put on a show, my dear Gaston."

Alphonse dug his fingers into Hazel's cunt and coated his cock in her wetness, before thrusting into her. He covered her with his body, blocking Etta's view, pumping fast with his hips. Hazel's breath came faster, and she let out a long mewl of pain, or pleasure. Alphonse's arm was hidden between them, and Etta knew he must be rubbing Hazel's clit, and Etta bunched her fists into the sides of her dress, imagining how it felt, wishing she dared touch herself while she watched him rape Hazel.

Hazel's head was thrown back, almost facing directly in Etta's direction, her mouth open widely, her body jerking under Alphonse's thrusts, and Etta wanted Hazel's lips to open for her like that, wanted Hazel moaning and gasping for her like that. She squeezed her thighs together, imagining Hazel's face between them, Hazel's tongue inside of her.

Alphonse took his hand away from Hazel's cunt and covered Hazel's mouth and nose with his red-stained fingers and Hazel's eyes fluttered open, and she looked directly into Etta's eyes as Alphonse came inside her with a moan, arching his back and stopping his thrusts. Hazel's eyes widened, and rolled back, then Alphonse was moving inside her again, letting go of her face and leaving a red stain in the shape of a smudged handprint. Etta's faced burned, and her own cunt twitched, and...

Etta saw then that Alphonse was looking at her, watching her face while he thrust inside Hazel, while he reared up and rubbed Hazel's clit again, and Etta couldn't look away, almost feeling his hand as if it were her body he was touching. Hazel squirmed and jerked under his touch, sucking in air between contractions of her torso bucking against its corset, her stockinged legs tensing around Alphonse's still-clothed hips.

Etta could not look away, and was ashamed, and afraid that the Rippers knew how much she enjoyed watching this, afraid that they would make her join in and pin her to the floor next to Hazel, dear Hazel whose suffering made Etta so wet and who had seen it in Etta's face.

Gaston was stroking his cock behind Alphonse, and Alphonse reached back and stroked it with him while he rubbed Hazel's clit, his hips stilled but his cock still inside her.

"Are you ready to take over, my dear Gaston?"

"I'm fit to burst, my dear Alphonse."

"She's all wet and warm and loose now, my dear Gaston." Alphonse pulled out, his limp cock glistening less with blood than with Hazel's juices. Gaston helped him up, and handed him the hatpin, which had released a trickle of clear fluid when he'd pulled it out of his cock, and then he spread Hazel's legs and drove his cock into her, and Etta could not contain herself anymore.

She reached a hand under her skirt and pushed aside her petticoats and masturbated while watching Gaston ravish Hazel once more, and she came as quickly as Gaston came, gasping, closing her eyes to escape Hazel's stare, to escape the stares other passengers might direct at her for this brazen display of indecency. She came, knocking over her suitcase, bucking in her seat, riding a tidal wave of guilty pleasure.

As she came down, the waves of her pleasure squeezing inside her more slowly, the tide ebbing, she opened her eyes and saw that the man in the seat across from her was staring, and there was a bulge in his trousers, and the woman sitting next to her had her hands over her ears and her eyes screwed tightly shut and her legs crossed. Her magazine had fallen down.

Etta turned to look at Hazel again, who was crying silently on the ground, her eyes on Etta, Alphonse's handprint on her face, as Gaston pumped lazily into her.

"What is you name, dear?"

Etta looked up to see that Alphonse was standing by her now, licking his hand, cleaning the blood off the bezel of Hazel's hatpin. He smirked at her.

His limp cock still hung out of the front of his breeches. She could see the details of the knives fastened to his vest, and the empty spaces where the ones that pinned Hazel's skirts would belong.

"Henrietta," said Etta.

"My dear Henrietta, please do not hide anymore."

Etta's mouth was dry. Alphonse took her gloved hand, smelled her still-wet fingers. Etta looked into his face, his smile avuncular, his eyes shining wickedly. She was close enough to grab a knife. To smell him, and Hazel on him, and Hazel's blood as a metallic afternote.

Alphonse placed Hazel's hatpin into Etta's palm. Her fist closed around it.

He tilted his head.

Then he returned to Hazel. 

Etta's hand compassed the thin metallic line of the hairpin.

The passengers' eyes darted from her back to the Rippers. And Hazel.

Gaston had his face buried between Hazel's thighs, one of her legs lifted above his shoulder, bracketed by knives.

Alphonse stood above them, orating on the practice of cunnilingus to his captive audience. Etta didn't need to listen. She knew the subject.

But many of the passengers now watched in various displays of morbid attentiveness. Some seemed to turn away the better to lend an ear to Alphonse's words, to Hazel's gasps and moans. The man with the hat on his lap had both his hands now in plain view on top of it, as if Etta's display had shamed him into restraining himself. The woman by the doors finally managed to strike a match; the smell of brimstone filled the carriage, but the match burned down to her fingers and she dropped it in the blood at her feet next to her fallen cigarette.

Etta stood up.

The woman closest to her shrank back in her seat, clutching her magazine.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it seems we have a volunteer after all," announced Alphonse. He was watching her, his hand on his cock.

Gaston looked up at Etta, his face painted in blood and come up to his sideburns. Hazel too looked at her, tears rolling down her blood-smeared face.

Etta wanted to kiss her, to stroke her hair, to bring hope back to that distraught countenance and be her friend again. Hazel looked so beautiful. 

Etta felt all eyes on her as she moved closer.

"Did you miss me?" she asked Hazel cruelly.

"Etta, I'm sorry," Hazel whispered. So, she knew. Etta wondered who had told her why she'd left.

"It wasn't your fault," Etta said. She bit her lip, feeling the scar there. "You never asked for it."

"Please help me."

"Show me how much you missed me."

And Etta hitched up her skirt and kneeled astride that wet face, straddling Hazel's head and bound arms to drown out Hazel's tears. Hazel's protestations were smothered by Etta's dress. Her breath blew hot against the slick hidden folds of Etta's skin, unable to escape. 

"These gentlemen," Etta said, her voice trembling, "have nothing to teach me in the art of lip service, but if they will continue the demonstration, this lady herself may prove that it is possible to give and receive it simultaneously."

Then Etta lowered herself to grind her cunt into Hazel's face, to ride it each time Hazel jerked when Gaston made her come. She closed her eyes to picture Hazel's face as she felt Hazel's teeth parting, Hazel's mouth sucking at her suckling flesh, Hazel's thrashing becoming more desperate underneath her. She lay her hands on Hazel's torso, felt the swell of bosoms and the hard cage of her corset. Etta leaned in to angle herself better. Hazel wasn't helping her get off again; there was no movement of tongue. Hazel's chin yielded against Etta's push, and Etta was too conscious of the audience she now had to lose herself in the moment.

"My dear Henrietta, do remember to let the lady breathe," said Gaston, coming up for air, his face much too close to Etta's when she opened her eyes. Men could be so considerate, couldn't they, right up until the moment they considered it their remit to put a woman back in her place.

Etta budged up, and heard Hazel gasping for breath under the swish of fabric trailing behind her. She leaned forward to pull Gaston in for a kiss, to taste the mingled familiar and unfamiliar tastes of blood, cyprine, and seed on his plump red lips and shut him up. He kissed voraciously, and smiled when she pulled away and spat.

Then she looked down and with her soiled gloved hand spread the lips of Hazel's cunt apart, and traced their outline with her hatpin. She lifted the hood of Hazel's engorged clit, to see it twitch, the pearl of it glistening next to the hatpin's decorative jewel. How wide Hazel gaped now that her maidenhead had been cut open, how swollen her cunt had become from the Rippers' stimulation. How ripe and juicy that freshly plucked fruit. And how sharp and pointy the tip of the hatpin would be on those succulent surfaces. They looked as if they would burst if Etta pricked them.

Hazel's juices ran down the stubble on Gaston's chin.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?" he said. "Would you like to take my place?"

"I have been in your place, but never seen her take a cock before today." She aimed the hatpin over the enlarged entrance in Hazel's cunt. It was so quiet in the carriage she thought she might hear it drop if she let go.

Then Alphonse intruded on the moment. He ruffled Gaston's curls and lifted the brim of Etta's hat so that she had to look up at him. 

His cock was hard again, and Etta felt his concupiscent gaze burning right through her. 

"Take what you must," Etta said. She hoped she would see up close how Hazel's cunt looked impaled on a cock. Gaston took the hatpin back from her.

"As you wish, Henrietta," said Alphonse. He gestured for her to lie down. He had no need of a knife to coerce her to comply.

Etta reclined on the floor next to Hazel. Her hat forced her head to tilt back, so that she was staring anxiously at the ceiling of the carriage. She lifted her arms to remove it, but Alphonse was on her before she could, leaning over her with the knives on his vest hanging over her and she lay still. The Ripper smiled down on her. 

Alphonse kissed Etta's exposed throat. He ran his hands over her body, which she surrendered to him. When he lifted her skirt and slipped his fingers between her legs, she was still wet, and his touch, unexpectedly gentle. He surprised her, caressing her when she expected him to hurt her. He dipped his fingers into the slickness brimming from her cunt and used the lubrication to slide them around over her inner labia, without directly rubbing her clit, taking the measure of her arousal.

"Oh, my dear Gaston, come and see what we have here."

"My dear Alphonse, I rather have my hands full at the moment." 

Etta whimpered as Alphonse slid a finger into her, just a little ways, teasing her narrow opening. His hands were much larger than Hazel's. What was Gaston doing to Hazel? Etta couldn't see. She tried to tilt her head to the side but Alphonse's hand flew up to her face and she felt her own wetness on her cheek as he kept her still. She complied. Alphonse would see the scarring. It was still visible around her jaw, just below his finger, and in the shape of her nose.

"You like to watch, don't you, my dear?" Alphonse whispered. His eyes were wide. He removed his hand from her face and sucked his wet finger, tasting her. He licked his lips. "Look at me," he said. Etta did.

He raised her hand to his nose and sniffed her glove again. He brought her fingers to his mouth and pulled at the fingertips of her glove one by one with his teeth and removed it, tossing it to Gaston.

Then he took her hand and guided it down to her cunt to coat her fingers in cyprine, dipping them one by one into her wet opening and smearing her palm with it.

"Have you ever held a man's cock?"

"No."

"I want you to touch me," he said, "like you would touch your friend there. She's someone you know, isn't she?"

"She... " He brought her hand to his crotch and Etta stopped short of finishing her sentence.

The Ripper's skin was warm, and he placed his cock in her hand like he had Hazel's hatpin before, conspiratorially. Her fist closed around it, and he squeezed her hand in his own fist and pulled it along the circumference of his cock. She felt the smoothness of the skin moving around his length, the yield of the fragile surface layer slipping around the hard, tumescent center. Reaching the end, she felt the shape of his glans under the skin that covered it like a glove, and then he pulled her hand back, retracting his foreskin again. Her hand slipped across the bumps of veins and he guided it further down, to feel the weight of his balls, their soft pendulous curves not that unlike breasts, yielding to the touch, but more compact and surrounded in hair. Alphonse closed his eyes and whimpered when she squeezed him softly.

Etta's curiosity got the better of her.

She watched Alphonse's face as she touched him, the openness of his need and desire. She stroked his cock, and he took his hand away and leaned on both his arms over her. She thumbed the tip of his cock and pinched it, feeling the wetness leaking from the tiny opening there, and felt around the unhooded end of his head, and saw Alphonse react, his face flushing when she found the more sensitive parts. His colouring reminded her of Hazel, but with none of Hazel's innocence in his features.

She felt his breath on her face. He whimpered in her hand like she had whimpered under his touch. She wondered that he allowed her so much power over him. The knives on his vest were there for her to take. She could do anything to him right then and there.

Then she heard Hazel's clothes ripping.

Etta kept her hand on Alphonse, kept him in her grasp, and turned her head and watched.

Gaston was ripping open Hazel's dress, cutting through the lace and overlayers up to her neck. There were scissors in his hands. Hazel's eyes were shut, her features contorted in terror. The scissors' blades were wet, but not with blood.

Gaston pulled apart the opened layers of dress and camisole, exposing the lace front corset underneath. Etta felt her own breath quicken, then felt Alphonse moving above her. He reclined on his side next to her, his head on his arm, to watch along with her as Gaston worked on Hazel and allow Etta to continue stroking him still. Etta carried on, her eyes glued to the spectacle she was now a part of.

And Alphonse now also had a hand free to reach under Etta's dress again. She was wetter than ever under his fingers. She squeezed her thighs around his hand and her hand around his cock and pulled harder, trying to keep a rhythm in her excitement. Alphonse's fingers flicked over her clit and Etta thrust into his touch and he thrust into her hand. She felt body respond to him and found herself welcoming the Ripper's touch. No, more than that. Craving it. She wanted to wrap herself around him and fuck his hand hard, while she watched Gaston strip Hazel bare.

Gaston cut through the lacing of Hazel's corset, then pulled it open like a ribcage, exposing her chemise.

Alphonse drew closer to Etta and slid a thick finger inside her as she watched Gaston tear apart the last layer of Hazel's clothing, revealing Hazel's breasts for all to see. Etta gasped. Alphonse slid another finger inside her. She shuddered under his touch, her hand trembling around his cock. She found herself unable to maintain the rhythm, grasped Alphonse's arm instead of his cock, bracing herself on it.

Gaston straddled Hazel, pinching her nipples and kneading her breasts. He kept her corset splayed under his legs, and his erection rose monstrously once more.

He'd set her hatpin into the tip of his penis again, and drawn out a long blade to replace the scissors.

He raised it over Hazel. Etta sucked in a deep breath.

Alphonse curled his fingers inside her and Etta cried out, coming as Gaston brought the blade down and cut. The knife sliced a red trail between Hazel's breasts, along the line of her breastbone. Etta convulsed against Alphonse, who kept his fingers inside her and held her on the peak of her pleasure with a merciless grip, and then, just as she crashed down, brought her off again.

Etta's heels scraped against the floor; her hat pulled at her hair as she flailed in Alphonse's grasp and threw her head back heedlessly. Her own sensations distracted her from noticing that Hazel didn't scream, until her own cries died down to sighs. She perceived dimly that Gaston was moving again, then heard muffled noises, whalebone cracking and the sounds of skin moving against wet skin and a man's grunts, and, more distantly, weeping, from more than one of the passengers.

"Look," Alphonse said, removing his hand from her cunt and turning her head toward her friend. Etta regained enough focus to follow as he pointed with that hand, his fingers glistening, reaching out over Etta's body to touch Gaston's leg.

Gaston was fucking Hazel's breasts, squeezing them together around his cock with his hands and sliding between them over the cut he'd made. Slipping in fresh blood, thrusting Hazel's hatpin toward Hazel's neck repeatedly on the end of his long, long cock, drawing a red stripe over Hazel's stomach each time he pulled back. Hazel was screaming, but through a gag, which was beginning to come unbunched out of her mouth. It was Etta's glove.

Alphonse began to raise himself off the floor. Etta saw the bloodlust in his eyes as he looked toward Hazel, and selfishly resented losing his attention.

"No," she said. "Don't stop." She sought out his cock again with her bare hand, but worried that she wouldn't measure up, wouldn't be able to hold onto him. She pulled up her skirt then and wrapped her legs around him, pulling him to her, guiding his cock swiftly into her.

She was prepared for it to hurt, to rip her open, to make her bleed like Hazel had bled, but it didn't, though it might have if Alphonse had been as large as Gaston. His cock stretched her out as it entered, but she was so slick and loosened from his fingering that nothing tore. 

She cried out anyway, a low, animal sound. The fullness and warmth of him overwhelmed her. Alphonse fell back onto her, into her, her insides spasming anew from the aftershocks of the pleasure he'd given her, but soon he was rising again and Etta gripped his vest to make him stay with her. He had been inside of Hazel, had made a show of taking her, and now that Etta had taken him, she didn't want to let go. Still he rose, but she had won his attention. He took her by the hips and tugged her closer. Etta took him in deeper, wondering when she would cross over the threshhold from pleasure to pain.

And Alphonse lifted Etta up onto his lap, shifted himself to sit below her, gazing up at her, smiling at her audacity and rocking his hips, digging his cock into her in short stabbing jerks that took her breath away because they felt so unspeakably good.

The other passengers were in her line of sight again and Alphonse's cock filled her up obscenely, but she welcomed it.

She felt seen. Not by the audience, but by him. 

Alphonse's eyes gleamed like knives.

Next to them, Gaston pumped into Hazel's bosom and twisted her nipples, his balls slapping against her stomach. Hazel's legs were half pulled up as she twisted in pain, her cunt exposed to the spectators to which both Gaston and Alphonse's backs were turned. One of the knives pinning her torn skirt open had been kicked over. Anyone could have taken it, but none dared to move against the Rippers with the body of their last kill still cooling where they all could see.

"Did you imagine me fucking you, when I was fucking her? Or did you imagine yourself in my place?" Alphonse asked.

"Both."

Alphonse spun around and lay back, side by side with Hazel, leaving Etta sitting atop him, riding his cock instead of Hazel's face. She watched him raise his arms and grab the leg of a train seat, mirroring Hazel's position and wriggling mockingly under Etta. Etta rose up a little, testing her ability to thrust around him, if he were going to be as passive as Hazel. She moved up and down, tight around his cock, and watched the mockery disappear from his face. He squirmed under her, breathing harder, and let her fuck him, watching her.

It felt so good to feel him under her, and watch Hazel next to him. To watch Hazel suffer so beautifully. Etta tried to match Gaston's rhythm, to cover the indecent slapping of her flesh around Alphonse's.

The knives on his vest were too tempting. All she had to do was reach out.

She grabbed one. Only a little one, but with a curved, gutting blade.

Alphonse smiled.

She heard gasps behind her. Gaston continued to fuck Hazel, but turned his head to see what Etta was doing.

Etta leaned in, to angle herself better.

Alphonse moaned loudly underneath her.

Etta peeled off her other glove and shoved it into his mouth, which he accepted eagerly, then she started to cut through his clothes.

His vest, weighed down by the remaining implements, fell away with a thud. Reinforced ribbing inside it echoed Hazel's corset. Then Etta ripped his shirt open, and his undershirt, and exposed Alphonse's bare torso. It too bore scars, but his chest was smooth rather than hirsute. Didn't men usually have hair there, or had his been shaved off? Etta wondered, admiring the curves of his muscles, the peaks of his erect nipples.

She pressed the tip of the knife at the point where his ribcage met his stomach. Alphonse's eyes went wide, but he held onto the seat, breathing through his nose. Neither he nor Gaston made a move to stop her. Alphonse stopped thrusting, lay still, a willing victim. Hers.

"Don't hesistate," Gaston said. "He likes a clean cut." 

Alphonse tensed as the knife pierced his flesh. Etta drew the blade up, tracing a thin red line in Alphonse's pale skin, from the bottom of his breastbone to his suprasternal notch. Shallower than Hazel's cut, but still bleeding profusely. She ran her fingertips on either side of the wound, enjoying the way Alphonse reacted by wincing in pain, and laid the flat of the blade on his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing under the curved edge. Etta wondered what it took to kill someone in one stroke. But she didn't want to kill him. She bent down and kissed his throat below the knife, and ran her hand down his hairless, bleeding torso. She twisted one of his nipples, rouging it with his blood, and set the knife down between Hazel and Alphonse.

Then she braced herself on the seat above him and fucked him, savouring how it felt to make a man bleed like a woman, and looking at Alphonse and Hazel side by side on the floor, as she and Gaston rode over them in tandem. Hazel and Alphonse's cuts bled in matching parallel lines. Etta reached out to touch Hazel's breast, and Gaston let her hold up one in his stead. Etta felt its softness in her hand, and the waves of motion as Gaston's cock pistoned on the other side of it. Gaston's arm crossed over hers to squeeze at Alphonse's naked breast, and Etta wondered if Gaston had ever fucked him, too. Whereas Hazel's expression was vacant around the gag now, Alphonse's was blissful.

Etta thought she'd like to see how he responded to even more pain. Did he like to bleed as much as he liked to cut? The thought made her as wet as Hazel ever had.

Soon Gaston shot his load over Hazel's neck, the seed spurting around the hatpin, dribbling into Hazel's cut. He rubbed his cock on her breasts, not doing much to clean up the mess of blood and come from either. Then, removing the hatpin before tucking himself back into his breeches and refastening their flap, he rose off of Hazel. The sight of her, so exposed and abused, moved Etta to fuck Alphonse harder, to ride him as hard as he'd earlier ridden Hazel, to see if she could make him look that vulnerable.

The train's engines rumbled back to life and startled Etta. The floor vibrated underneath her. She felt Alphonse tensing and bucking up, heard him crying out through his gag. When he came inside of her, the twitching of his cock also felt like something sputtering to life within her, then fading to a background hum.

Alphonse released the legs of the seat and propped himself up on his elbows, wincing. She reached out to pull the gag from his mouth. He clenched his jaw, letting her pull him forward by the end of a finger protruding from his lips. When his face was unnervingly close to hers, he slowly opened up. The glove came out damp with saliva. Alphonse shut his mouth. She saw him swallow before he could speak. His blood oozed down from the cut in his chest onto the hem of her dress. His hands sneaked under it again, resting on her thighs in the tangle of her petticoats. His cock inside of Etta was softening.

She couldn't tear her eyes away from his gaze.

"My dear Alphonse, we have held up these poor commuters long enough. I believe everything is in order. Would you agree?"

"My dear Gaston, the quality of the equipment here has surpassed my expectations." Alphonse's thumb caressed Etta's clit. Gaston hoisted her up, wrenching them apart. Her skirt fell down to her ankles again and she stood unsteadily over Hazel, while Gaston picked up the many knives on the floor and handed them back to Alphonse, who reattached them onto his vest. 

"We seem to have run into a minor sartorial impediment. Do you have any ideas on how to fasten this?" His vest, slashed open by Etta, wouldn't close anymore and hung at his sides, weighed down by the knives.

"Allow me." Gaston pinned the flaps of it together with Hazel's hatpin.

Alphonse's seed leaked from Etta's cunt. It was uncomfortably akin to her monthlies surprising her without a rag to pin to her undervestments. Her petticoats were already filthy. This also meant stains on her stockings, and Etta pushed worse possible consequences out of her mind for the moment. She kneeled next to Hazel, and gently pried her other glove from Hazel's mouth.

The Rippers were getting dressed. The train would be moving again soon, and they would be leaving the scene of the crime.

Hazel's cut looked ugly, but shallow. The skin was parted and inflammed, between her breasts, covered in crusting blood and semen. Etta wiped one of her gloves onto the wound, less to clean it than to see more blood seeping out.

Hazel let out a small, keening noise of helpless pain. She would live, if infection didn't fester in those wounds.

Gaston unfettered Hazel's hands. She stayed on the floor, curling up around her defiled nakedness.

"Why did you come back? Why couldn't you have stayed away?" Hazel's hoarse whisper carried only as far as Etta's ears, and Etta felt a sudden pang of regret, if not remorse.

"I came back hoping to see you."

"My father was right. You're sick, Etta."

Etta's own laugh surprised her. She howled with laughter. Doubled over with it. Banged her fists on the floor of the carriage and felt tears welling up in her eyes that threatened to turn to sobs.

"Your father should see me now!" Etta screamed. She wiped the semen leaking down her legs with the other glove and threw both gauntlets down at Hazel and got up. "I'll be sure to pay my respects and piss over his grave."

Everyone was looking at Etta. Old and young, horrified and repulsed, the passengers stared at her. Her outburst had distracted them even from the Rippers, who, edging toward the door, had stopped in their tracks, too. 

So many witnesses to Etta's perversity. 

The train whistle sounded. 

Etta rushed to her suitcase. Her seatmate held her rolled-up magazine like an improvised weapon defensively and backed away. They all backed away from her. She felt herself shaking. Hysterical, Hazel's father would have said. He'd called Etta all sorts of names when he'd broken her face.

The Rippers were already at the connecting door, Gaston already descending away from the gaslight that shone through the train windows, into the polluted darkness of the tunnel.

"What is the fare, gentlemen?" Etta asked. She strode toward the exit, toward the Rippers. "What must I do to ride with you?" Alphonse turned to Etta as she came over to join them.

"My dear Henrietta, your ticket is already in hand. Must you take your baggage along?"

"I'm not running away," she said. It was only half a lie. "I am coming home."

"Then, my dear, it would be my pleasure to escort you," said Alphonse. He took her suitcase from her and passed it down to Gaston, and gestured at her to go down. She put her hand on Alphonse's arm and looked into his eyes, burning bright under the shadow of his top hat.

"After you, my dear Alphonse."


End file.
